The first tape was boring. It was Wayne ordering some redheaded bimbo to strip for the camera. Victoria popped it out of the VCR. She thought she heard something so she walked over to the doorway and listened, but she could still only hear Wayne’s voice in the living room relaying his favorite Val Kilmer story. Victoria crept back to the bedroom and put in another tape.
“Yeah, baby, yeah baby!” said the woman on film as Wayne pumped her.
Gross. But it wasn’t Victoria. Victoria watched in disgust for a second and was about to switch it off when the woman flipped over. Hmm…she looks familiar, thought Victoria. An actress? That chick from Entertainment Tonight? Victoria squinted closely. Oh. My. God. Gold mine! It was Shelly Forrester. Wife of Dick Forrester, the founder of Wayne’s agency, now head of a major studio. One of the biggest power brokers in Hollywood, if not the biggest. Wow. What a fool! And Wayne was now ogling at the camera, winking at it as he rode Shelly cowboy style. People are so stupid, thought Victoria. She wasn’t, though. She was going to take this tape and blackmail Wayne with it. Make him fork over any tape that he had of her and more. She wanted him to suffer the way he made her suffer. And this was her ticket to revenge.
Victoria walked down the stairs, clutching the banister but keeping her eye on Wayne as she descended. People like him don’t deserve to live. She watched as he became more and more animated in his story, relaying some meretricious anecdote in which he was inevitably saving some celebrity’s life. Those men are all alike. Beasts. Subhuman. His eyes were dancing and he was furiously gesticulating, and Victoria had to do everything to control her revulsion. Even from ten feet away she could see the little drops of saliva that came flying out of his mouth as he talked faster and faster. She had been on the receiving end of that saliva storm, and it wasn’t pretty. This man doesn’t deserve to live. It was all going through her head again and again. No one would miss him if he were gone.
“Eliza’s having second thoughts. We’re going,” said Victoria quickly as she grabbed her bag and walked to the front door.
“What?” asked Wayne, popping out of his seat.
Eliza stood up and mutely followed Victoria to the door.
“We’re out of here, Wayne. Good-bye,” she said.
“You can’t go!”
“Yes, we’re going,” said Victoria.
Wayne ran over and tried to bar her from opening the door, but he was too drunk and out of his mind to stop her.
“Bye,” said Eliza meekly.
“Cocksuckers! Teases! Whores!” he screamed at them as they walked down the path.
“Right back at you!” said Victoria.
“Did you get it?” asked Eliza.
“Got even better,” said Victoria.
When Eliza got home that night the house was dark and she expected Declan to be asleep. He usually went to bed early on work nights—he couldn’t even make it to Jon Stewart. She put down her keys and purse and was about to go upstairs when she heard a voice in the living room.
“How was the movie?” asked Declan.
“You’re awake!” Eliza said, startled. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
She walked over and sat down next to him.
“Just thinking. How was the movie?” he repeated.
“Great,” said Eliza lamely. “How are the kids?”
“Good,” said Declan.
He studied her face carefully and she returned his gaze with curiosity.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Yup,” he said, rising. “Let’s go to bed.”
•• 30 ••
Anson was offended that none of the ladies of the infidelity pact had come courting or begging after his blind items in the newspaper. He had expected flowers, tears, dinners, trinkets. But nothing. And even worse, they had either continued to ignore him or been outright rude.
“Victoria,” Anson had called out on a recent morning. He was standing on the end of her driveway watching her maneuver grocery bags out of her car.
“Don’t let your dog piss on my lawn,” ordered Victoria, glowering at Samantha.
“Good morning to you, too,” he sniffed, irritated on behalf of Samantha. “Since I know that you have undue influence on your husband, I was wondering if you might ask him to take a look at a screenplay I’ve been tinkering with.”
Victoria’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared ever so slightly. “Yeah, right,” she snapped before she slammed the trunk of her car shut and stomped into her house.
Anson was speechless. Had she not read the blind items? Was she not worried? How could she dismiss him like that? It only fueled him further.
Anson knew that in order to build a case you needed to gather information and ammunition on your enemies. The baby monitor tapes were obviously a smoking gun, but he needed photographs or other supplementary evidence in order to get the death penalty. So he took to following the ladies. It was kind of fun, sneaking around after them. Their lives were actually pretty dull—carpool, dry cleaner’s, workouts—until they did something naughty. Something with one of their lovers. Or so he suspected.
He watched the flowers arriving almost daily at Eliza’s and knew that Tyler was wooing her no end. He also knew that Eliza was rebuffing him, because as soon as the van marked VELVET GARDEN drove off, Eliza walked around to the garbage bin outside and dumped out the roses. Getting rid of the evidence. In an effort to be completely thorough, Anson waited to walk Samantha until Declan had wheeled down the trash to the corner of the driveway to await morning pickup, and idled until Samantha pooped and he could throw out the doggie bag in their trash can. When he leaned into the can, he subtly grabbed the discarded note that came with the flowers. He’d call the flower shop and find out who was behind the note that said, Thanks for your support.
Every piece of information that Anson gathered on the girls was put into a file marked under their name in the leather cabinet in his office. He loved to read through those files. To think what those girls would do if they knew what he had on them! He would often make checklists of things that he felt were missing, that would be the so-called cherry on the top of the sundae. For one, he wanted to get his hands on an advance copy of Eliza’s interview with Tyler that would appear in Chat magazine, but his initial attempts had been unsuccessful. And that was what led him to his theory about Eliza, which he now believed to be true. And he was certain her friends had no idea.
He also had photos of Helen and Daniela, but only of them walking down the street, and he wasn’t sure if that was enough. Two women could always claim to be friends. It was hard to prove lesbianism, especially when one had no track record of Sapphic love. He wasn’t sure what to do about Helen. Her file is still sort of empty, thought Anson, discouraged.
Leelee was the one that perplexed him. He had followed her down to Manhattan Beach twice and knew that she was up to no good when she was there. Through his binoculars, which he looked through from across the parking lot, he could see that she was Xeroxing what looked like a ransom letter and then destroying the evidence, but he wasn’t quite sure whom she was mailing. Jack? Brad? No, she didn’t want the recipient to know it was her—why else would she wear those crazy gloves? He was still getting to the bottom of that one. But he realized that he didn’t have to know exactly what Leelee was doing. He could always bluff. She’d probably spill the beans when she thought he knew something. Pictures were unnecessary in this case; all he needed to do was make an anonymous call to the New York Post and the press would be all over that. But he relished being the sole press person on the case, and hated to relinquish that power.
It was definitely time to up the stakes. And there was only one way to do that. Get the husbands involved.
•• 31 ••
As Helen was estranged from her parents (“adoptive parents” she would always say) and Wesley’s family resided in England, they were essentially holiday orphans, particularly on American holidays. They often traveled for those “Hallmark occasions,�
�� as Wesley referred to them, but this year they had accepted an offer to celebrate Thanksgiving with the Gallahues, believing that it might be nice for Lauren to actually experience one such event. In a spurt of ambition, Eliza had also invited Victoria and Leelee, but the former was hosting her in-laws from Long Island and the latter was hosting her parents from Boston, and although both had agreed to stop by for a drink, Eliza knew that Victoria would but Leelee would not. It didn’t really matter, for what Eliza was particularly excited about was that her best friend from Chicago, Claudia, and her husband, Morgan, had accepted the invitation to join them for the long weekend.
After a long, wine-soaked Wednesday-night dinner at Capo, while Morgan and Declan talked business and she filled Claudia in on every aspect of her life (except Tyler Trask), Eliza once again came to the conclusion that nothing beats old friends. Really, truly. It was that comfort level, that shorthand reference guide, the fact that any statement she made or opinion she expressed was contextualized. For example, politics. If Eliza said she might vote for a Republican governor, Claudia didn’t immediately attack her for being anti-choice, pro-gun, and subhuman the way her other friends would. Eliza considered herself a moderate, but her more democratic friends associated that with devil worship. Affirmative action? They wanted that, of course. It was the right way. And yet if their child’s spot at St. Peter’s was taken by a black or Latino child, they were first in line at the admissions office to register a complaint (and then get ten board members to write threatening letters). Often Eliza felt as if everyone in Los Angeles was so knee-jerk liberal, but in the most self-aggrandizing, unthoughtful, and pedantic way. “Liberals are the most intolerant,” Declan always said, and he was right.
Even just discussing politics with Claudia was a luxury. Eliza had gone to Georgetown, majoring in political science, and even interned at Senator Simon’s office, and yet she found herself never discussing politics in Los Angeles. Sure, there was the small pocket of women who worked with the National Resources Defense Council and were happy to tell you how they were cleaning up the environment, why hybrid cars are better (and why their driving them counterbalances their flying in private jets), and how you can help, but for the most part, people just wanted to gossip. Celeb gossip, local gossip. Perhaps it was like that everywhere, although Eliza didn’t remember her parents sitting around gossiping.
But more than just having a friend with whom she could discuss politics and current events, Eliza was most happy to have Claudia because with her she could be her totally relaxed, silly self. Claudia and Morgan had only recently married and still didn’t have kids (Claudia also worked hundred-hour weeks at her law firm), so Claudia was totally indulgent in letting Eliza show off Donovan and Bridget (her goddaughter) and talk her ear off about their latest toddler accomplishments. They in turn loved their “Auntie” Claudia, whom they called Auntie Boom-Boom because of her big, hearty (booming) laugh. Everything about Claudia was big, which she credited to her fine German stock. She stood a good five foot eleven, and had long legs, large breasts, and thick, long auburn hair and giant green eyes. Claudia was guileless and totally open on almost every topic, refreshingly unjaded. She was as excited as a child when they were seated next to Larry David at the restaurant and on her last visit to Los Angeles could not stop raving about how totally cool it was to see the stars on Hollywood Boulevard. It was funny to Eliza that she was known as such a shark in the courtroom. She couldn’t see it at all and promised herself to one day fly to Chicago for the sole purpose of checking out her friend in action.
On Thanksgiving morning, Declan and Morgan were dispatched to the golf course (they were classified by their spouses as useless in all culinary matters) and Eliza, Claudia, and Helen decamped in the Gallahues’ kitchen to prepare the feast. Eliza was not a gourmand, and usually relied on Barefoot Contessa cookbooks when she was doing any sort of entertaining, but all the years of living far away from her parents had forced her to learn how to put together Thanksgiving dinner. Helen sat on a chair, peeling potatoes and letting the starchy strips of skin fall into the garbage can between her legs. Claudia was assembling the brussels sprouts, Parmesan cheese, and heavy cream that went into her favorite Thanksgiving dish, which she promised would be good and even to those who didn’t like brussels sprouts—she’d make converts of them tonight. Eliza had already put the turkey in the oven that morning, filled with her favorite cornbread stuffing, and was now caramelizing baby onions on one range, while monitoring the peas and wild mushrooms that were sautéing on another.
“Okay, I’m obsessed, so please continue,” commanded Claudia. She was in a dark red turtleneck sweater that clashed with her auburn hair, and couldn’t have appeared more opposite of the small-boned Helen sitting across from her.
“You’re so funny. What else can I tell you?” asked Helen, jerking her head to the side to flip the errant strands of hair that were getting in her eyes.
“I don’t know. I guess …everything,” said Claudia.
“You created a monster,” said Eliza from the stove. “She’s a lawyer, remember? She’ll want all the details.”
Within ten minutes of meeting her, Helen had told Claudia that she had been sleeping with a woman. Eliza’s pupils had dilated and she looked alarmed, but Helen gave her a reassuring look as if to say, Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. And Eliza believed her. She knew that Helen wouldn’t rat her out to other people, and she was fine with Helen discussing her infidelity as long as she didn’t mention the pact. Eliza had thought about confiding in Claudia and couldn’t believe she actually hadn’t, because they had known each other since they were seven and she told her everything, but Claudia adored Declan and would never have approved. It was fine if it was other people, but not people she regarded as family.
“Okay, first I want to know, what is it like with a woman? Do you think you’re a lesbian? Does this make you want to have a threesome?” asked Claudia, pouring milk into the casserole dish.
“Look at you! All these questions!” Helen smiled, unperturbed by them. “Okay, no, it doesn’t make me want to have a threesome. You bring someone else into your bedroom and that’s inviting trouble.”
“Who wants to have a threesome?”
They turned around. It was Victoria. They hadn’t heard her come in.
“Hey, Victoria,” said Claudia rising and giving Victoria a big hug, from which Victoria slightly recoiled.
“Hey, Claudia. Welcome back to town,” said Victoria, marching over to the wine rack on the kitchen counter, taking out a bottle of pinot noir, and studying the label.
“Can I open this?” she asked.
“Sure,” said Eliza, opening the drawer and handing her a corkscrew.
“Isn’t it a little early?” asked Helen.
“It’s never too early when my in-laws are in town,” said Victoria, twisting the handle and popping the cork out. She took out a glass. “Anyone else?”
“Well, I’m on vacation, so why not?” said Claudia, with mock guilt.
“If I have any now, I’ll pass out,” said Eliza.
“Helen?” asked Victoria.
“Sure.”
Victoria poured the wine and brought it over to the other girls. “What’s wrong with your in-laws?” asked Claudia.
“Don’t get me started,” said Victoria, unlacing the mostly decorative wool scarf that she had around her neck (it was sixty-five degrees outside) and sliding out two chairs, one for her and the other for her feet. “First of all, my father-in-law? The guy literally sells aluminum siding. Could he be more white trash? And his accent is like Archie Bunker or some Mafioso, all ‘dems’ and ‘dis.’ He dyes his hair jet-black but it kind of has a bluish tint to it, and his clothes have lapels the size of airport hangars. Justin wanted to take them to Mr. Chow’s for dinner but I said no way am I going anywhere with them where we might actually see people we know, so we took them to Peppone, which is the darkest restaurant in town. Of course my mother-in-law complained th
e entire time. She’s the most passive-aggressive person I know. It’s all, ‘I don’t care where we go, anywhere you want,’ and then when we go to a place she’s like, ‘Of course, you know I had Italian last night, but it doesn’t matter.’ I can’t deal.”
Claudia was amused watching Victoria rant. For such a physical beauty, she always seemed to be spewing the most venomous, cutting remarks. Claudia couldn’t imagine what she was so angry about.
“That’s a drag,” said Eliza from the stove. It was such a popular sport, bashing the in-laws, that she sometimes felt people did it more out of a sense of tradition than real feelings. She was lucky with Declan’s parents. They were really sweet, good with the kids, and didn’t interfere. They also had eight other grandchildren and lived in Baltimore, so that helped. Of course Eliza could find fault with them if she tried, but what was the point? They were there to stay; you can’t change them. It seemed that as soon as some of her friends married their husbands they went on the offensive, armed and ready for battle with their in-laws, cataloging every irritation and small offense. Let it go.
“My in-laws are horrid, but thankfully they’re in England,” said Helen, stopping her potato peeling and taking a big swig of her wine.
“All right, I totally want to talk about this, but please, before the guys come back can we finish with your comments on your girlfriend?” asked Claudia, putting her hands under her chin and leaning in.
“You’re telling her about Daniela?” asked Victoria, her eyebrow arched.
The Infidelity Pact Page 18